Lips of an Angel
by Toby Black
Summary: A H/Hr songfic set to Hinder's Lips of an Angel. I don't own the chars or the song. Written pre-book seven.


A black haired man lay on his back, looking up with brilliant emerald eyes at the nighttime ceiling, not really seeing what was there. His arms were resting across his waist on top of the blankets and his head and neck were cradled by a large, overstuffed feather pillow. With a soft sigh, he turned his head to stare out through the partially drawn curtains at the moon. His pale skin was made even more so by the silver light falling on it, revealing a thin, lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Other then the moonlight, the room was completely dark except for the dull red glow spilling in from the open door as the fire in the front room's fireplace died slowly. From his left came the slow, steady sound of rhythmic breathing, signifying that the woman next to him was sound asleep. Harry, on the other hand, was unable to sleep, and was spending another, in a very long series of mostly sleepless nights, thinking, mostly about the past, not wanting to face the future.

Knowing that he was not going to be able to fall back asleep, Harry gently drew off the covers, careful not to disturb the sleeping figure next to him and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Reaching blindly towards the oak table next to the bed, he found his wire rimmed glasses and placed them gently on his face, causing the room to finally come into focus. With a soft sigh, he rose and padded across the room, his bare feet not making a sound on the soft carpet that covered the floor of the room. Walking out into the front room, Harry paused by the fireplace to stoke it into new life and throw a new log in before he sat down on the couch. The raven haired man stared aimlessly into the flames, allowing his mind to wander. He thought about the past, about happier times, before his seventh year, when everything had gone wrong. Only one thing had kept him sane through that whole time, but now, he had lost even that, through pure stupidity. Slowly, as the fire continued to crackle and pop in the hearth, Harry drifted off into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

_Harry was standing in the middle of what had once been the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, but was now a battlefield. All around him spells were being cast, deflected, and returned. People were falling, Death Eaters and Order Members alike. It was a loosing battle, for both sides and it would only be a matter of time before there was no one left. Someone had to end it, and soon. Feeling a pair of eyes on him, Harry turned around and met the blood red gaze of Lord Voldemort, the orchestrater of this entire war, the man who was personally responsible for the deaths of thousands, if not millions._

"_Prepare to die Potter," Voldemort hissed, raising his wand and aiming it squarely at Harry's chest._

"_Not today Tom," Harry responded, likewise raising his wand to aim it at his opponent. "I'm not the one who's going to lose." Even as he said this, the young man sent a bolt of red towards the Dark Lord, at the same time that a white curse shot from Voldemort's wand. The two spells both hit target and both casters were thrown backwards. Harry fell through blackness and pain into what felt like a gentle rocking, like a boat on a calm ocean. He felt no pain, no suffering, no loss, only peaceful, calm, tranquil bliss. He was ready just to stay there for eternity, drift deeper into this soothing world, but something familiar, a voice of someone he loved, was sternly pulling him back, pleading for him to get up. Realizing that he had to keep fighting and that he couldn't ignore this voice, Harry fought his way upwards, back into the pain and the suffering until he was finally once more aware of the bruised and injured body that was his._

"_Harry! Harry!" the anxious voice was saying as its owner shook him. His head was fuzzy and his whole body hurt. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to look up into the chocolate ones of Hermione Granger._

**Honey why you calling me so late?  
It's kinda hard to talk right now.  
Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay?  
I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud**

"Hermione," Harry said groggily, sitting up suddenly, not remembering having lain down to begin with. "What are you doing here?" Readjusting the wire rimmed glasses that had been knocked askew when he slouched over, the man shifted over on the couch so that the woman standing next to it could likewise sit down. It was only when he really looked at Hermione that he realized something was wrong. Her eyes were wet and red rimmed and her cheeks had tear stains on them. "What's wrong Mione?" he asked softly, using her old school nickname.

"I couldn't sleep and I just needed someone to talk to. You're the first person who came to mind and I know your sleeping habits and I figured you'd still be awake. I didn't mean to wake you, but it looked like you were having a nightmare. You were just kind of lying there, twitching and you kept mumbling under your breath about Tom and Voldemort and…" Hermione trailed off in her ramblings as Harry shushed her gently.

"It's okay Mione. It was just a dream. It's in the past, all of it."

"It was about him, wasn't it Harry? About Voldemort? Why can't you just let him go?"

"Because, I'm afraid that if I let the past go, I'll lose it and when I lose the past, I lose…too much." Harry responded softly, turning away from Hermione, not wanting her to see him cry.

"I miss them too, all of them. And even if you let Voldemort go, Ron and Sirius and your parents are all going to be with you, no matter what."

Harry didn't answer, only looked back towards his bedroom, where he heard a rustle of sheets and a slight moan, but no further sound followed and he slowly released the breath that he had been holding.

**Well, my girl's in the next room  
Sometimes I wish she was you  
I guess we never really moved on  
It's really good to hear your voice say my name  
It sounds so sweet  
Coming from the lips of an angel  
Hearing those words it makes me weak**

"Oh." Hermione said softly, following Harry's gaze. "I didn't realize Harry. I'm sorry. I'll go." The young woman rose to head back towards the fireplace, but stopped at Harry's voice as he gently said her name.

"Hermione, please stay. Stacy's asleep and I need someone to talk with, someone who's gone through what I have and I don't know anyone besides you that has." Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione came back across the room to the couch and sat down on it next to Harry. Sinking into the cushions, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the couch as she remembered a time on a couch very similar to this one, except it was at Hogwarts, almost five years ago now, when Harry and Hermione had been in their seventh year.

_A young woman, still a teenager, was sitting on the edge of one of the overstuffed couches of the Gryffindor Common Room. Her bushy, brown hair was matted to her head by water, mud, and blood. A gash on her forehead was covered in dried blood, as was part of her face where the blood had dripped down and been left untended. A cut on her upper arm still bled sluggishly and her left wrist was hastily bound in a field splint after it had been badly sprained. Her black school robes were torn and covered with mud and blood as well, whose blood it was besides hers that stained them was unknown. The girl was leaning forward, her right elbow resting on her knee and her forehead set into the palm of the hand. Her shoulders shook from sobs and two tear streaks ran down her face from still wet, chocolate eyes._

_A boy with raven hair likewise matted to his head and in similar condition to the girl stepped into the common room through the portrait hole and allowed his jade green eyes to rove over those few remaining Gryffindors until they settled on Hermione. In just a few strides, he had crossed the room and was kneeling on the floor at her side. His face was also stained with tears, though unlike Hermione, Harry had managed to halt his weeping, for how at least. "Hermione…" he began, his voice soft and uncertain._

"_He's dead Harry. All of them, they're dead," she said bitterly, not looking at him, but continuing to watch the floor next to her feet through tear blurred eyes. "This is not the sort of victory that I wanted. It's not even a victory. He still won. God damn-it that bastard still won. Even when we destroyed his army and even when he was killed that son of a bitch won." The vehemence present in his friend's voice would have made anyone else back off, but Harry just moved up onto the couch next to Hermione, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. "How could he die Harry?" she continued pitifully, her strength and anger beginning to fail and give way to despair. "Ron swore he'd always be with us but now he's gone." Hermione choked out through sobs that raked her whole body and left her shaking in Harry's arms._

"_I know Hermione, but he's still with us and he'll never leave, not so long as we remember him." Harry said, shushing her gently, his face buried in her hair. Tears were once more streaming down his face as Hermione shifted to wrap her arms around him, finding comfort in his embrace._

"What are you thinking about?" Harry probed gently, pulling Hermione out of the past and back to the present which still felt as dark and lonely as that night of the final battle, if not so dark in appearance.

"The night…the night that Ron died. Afterwards…in the common room. When you…when you were holding me." Hermione responded haltingly, her voice quivering, threatening on the verge of tears.

**And I never wanna say goodbye  
But girl you make it hard to be faithful  
With the lips of an angel**

"That was when I first kissed you." Harry said softly, his eyes growing distant as he too remembered that terrible, fateful night.

_It was late, many hours past midnight. The sun would actually be rising soon. The Death Eaters had arrived early the morning previous and attacked the castle, hoping to catch her unawares. They defenders had been ready though. They had fought back, given their whole selves over to the fight and it had continued on for a long grueling morning and afternoon. It was nearing evening that Voldemort finally made his appearance and it was then that the true battle began. Then, just as the sun was beginning to set, the final blow was given and Voldemort was destroyed, and with his life went the will of his army._

_So then, many hours later, almost a day after the battle had begun, two Gryffindor seventh years, two of the few who had survived the final battle, were to be found together on one of the red couches that adorned the Gryffindor Common Room. Both of their faces were stained from crying and twin streaks of clean skin showed through the grime that coated their faces where there dirt and blood had been washed away by the tears. It was nearing five in the morning and there were no more tears left to be cried. They sat together, taking comfort in each other's presence as they each held the other. The clock in the corner began chiming the hour, pulling the two out of the silent mourning and remembrances of their friends who had fallen. Hermione turned her chocolate eyes up towards Harry's emerald ones. Her whole face was tired and sad. It had been more then a day since she had last slept and all she had eaten were a few field rations that she had choked down when she remembered that she needed food to fight, and so all of her energy had left her, leaving her an empty, broken shadow of who she generally was._

_Gently, tenderly, not really knowing what he was doing, Harry leaned down slightly and kissed Hermione on the lips, not loosening his hold from around her waist. He tasted the blood and mud and the saltiness of her tears on her lips as the kiss deepened, then as suddenly as it began, Harry pulled back as he finally realized what he was doing. "I'm…I'm sorry," he stammered, not meeting the girl's eyes, "I shouldn't have done that."_

"_No Harry," Hermione said, shifting so that she was nestled deeper into his side, "we both needed it and I could have stopped you."_

"_But Ron…I feel like…"_

"_You haven't betrayed him. He would have wanted this, told me that much himself before…before he…"_

"I still feel like I've betrayed him somehow." Harry said, glancing over at Hermione, wanting to, but not daring to, put his arms around her and hold her like he had done early that morning. She had a different boyfriend now, and he had…he had Stacy.

**It's funny that you're calling me tonight  
And, yes, I've dreamt of you too  
And does he know you're talking to me  
Will it start a fight  
No I don't think she has a clue**

"You haven't," Hermione replied softly, her eyes flicking towards the partially open bedroom door then towards the fireplace for a fraction of a second before resting back on Harry's face. "I…didn't tell you the whole truth…about coming here."

"What's wrong Hermione?" Harry asked, his voice low and eyes dark with concern as he stared intently at his friend's face, noticing again the tear streaks and the eyes that were once again growing wet.

"I was dreaming then woke up and couldn't go back to sleep." Harry sat in silence, listening, guessing, knowing that there was more to come. "It was about you, and Voldemort, and when I thought that you had…that you had…"

"That I had died." Harry said in a monotone voice, his gaze sliding off of Hermione's face and towards the flames that were still crackling in the hearth. "It's funny really," he commented, his voice not even holding the barest touch of humor, "but that's what I was dreaming about when you woke me up. It was your voice that brought me back. And it was you that gave me something to fight for, a reason to get up and keep trying."

A long silence stretched between Harry and Hermione as they were both pulled back in time again to that time, that night, when everything in their lives had spiraled out of control, even as the world celebrated the demise of the most evil wizard to have ever walked the planet. Blinking back tears, Harry asked softly, changing the subject towards something slightly less painful. "Does Brad know…that you're here? Cause I don't want to start any fights for you, you have enough demons of your own without my help."

Mutely, Hermione shook her head before glancing over towards the bedroom where Stacy slept soundly, blessedly oblivious to the pain and suffering taking place just one room over from her. "He doesn't know. Not that it would matter. I don't think he really even sees me anymore. What about Stacy?"

"She's so oblivious to everything but my fame that I doubt she'd even realize it if she walked out of the bedroom right now." Harry said bitterly, knowing that this was unfair to Stacy. She would wake him up when he had nightmares and stay with him until he could return to sleep and would speak gentle words to him and just hold him when everything became too much for him. She wasn't the same thought. She tried, he knew that, but Hermione always knew what to do, instinctively, and even if she wasn't awake, she had seemed to be able to tell when he was having another nightmare and would be able to sooth it away, sometimes without waking him up. But generally he had woken up, then they had held each other and she had cried with him, knowing what it was he had lost and knowing how much it pained him, having lost the exact same people as he had.

**Well my girl's in the next room  
Sometimes I wish she was you  
I guess we never really moved on  
It's really good to hear your voice say my name  
It sounds so sweet  
Coming from the lips of an angel  
Hearing those words it makes me weak**

"Then why do you stay with her?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly bitter as she pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring into the fire as well, not looking Harry in the face or meeting his eyes when he turned to look at her.

For what felt like an eternity, the two sat together in silence. Hermione continuing to watch the flames in the fireplace, even if she didn't really see them, and Harry staring off into space, thinking about what Hermione had asked and just why he did stay with Stacy. "I don't know," he replied at last, his voice contemplative. "I guess I'm afraid of being alone at night. I don't want to wake up from a nightmare where everyone around me is dying because I couldn't kill that bastard fast enough and have no one to turn to, no one to hold. I guess I stay with her because I want that warm body next to me that's real, and alive, and that cares for me."

"And do you care for them back?"

"I don't know anymore." Harry stated truthfully. "I really don't know anymore. I thought I did at one time, but all I had to do was think about…" Harry trailed off as he glanced towards the woman next to him for a second. "I don't think so. I like her, but sometimes, I just wish that she were something more. I know that's unfair of me to ask, but I can't help but think…" Harry shook his head, as if attempting to clear the thoughts from his mind. "What about you and Brad? Why do you stay with him?"

"He used to be really sweet and gentle and would always take care of me. Like you said, it's the want of that warm body next to me that's real and alive. I know he still cares about me, but sometimes, I'm not sure of just how much. I know I don't love him though. How can you love someone when you're always comparing them to someone else? When you always think of how they could be different or do something better or just understand why you act the way you do."

"You do it too?" Shaking his head again, Harry gave a hollow laugh as he pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to the fireplace. Resting his arm on the mantle, he looked down into it for a minute or two, hoping that he could find the answers there, but he wasn't a pyromancer. He couldn't divine anything from the flames, at least not anything that would help him here. Still not looking back at Hermione, he continued, "Every girl that I go out with, every one, I always end up comparing them to you and each one of them always ends up falling short. I guess when I finally chanced upon Stacy, one small part of her personality had a spark of similarity to you and I was tired of looking. She's nothing like you though; wouldn't be able to even come close if she tried. I guess I couldn't keep taking the pain of having to wake up to only to find a cold pillow next to me where a warm body had once been."

**And I never wanna say goodbye  
But girl you make it hard to be faithful  
With the lips of an angel**

A woman with long reddish-brown hair and the build of an athlete moved silently away from the door that was partially cracked open and back into the dark interior of the bedroom. Crystal tears slipped down her cheeks, falling from a pair of sad, grey eyes. Moving over to the bed, she sat upon it and hugged her knees to her chest while she continued to cry. Stacy had awoke to the sound of voices in the other room and not knowing if it was the Ministry or not wanting to talk to Harry about something important, she had moved to the door and listened quietly, hidden from view, to find out. What she did overhear was much more painful then any message a Ministry auror could have delivered in the middle of the night. _'I guess it just wasn't meant to be,'_ the woman thought as she continued to cry quietly in the dark.

Harry and Hermione's voices continued to float in from the other room, but she tried to ignore them, to little success. For some time, Stacy had suspected Harry of being unhappy, but not with her, with work or something else in the world, not with her. Reaching an arm out, the woman took hold of the framed photograph that was resting on Harry's bedside table. It had been taken while she and Harry and Hermione and her boyfriend, Brad, had been celebrating the anniversary of the fall of Voldemort. They had taken a picnic in the park and some friend of Harry and Hermione's from school had snapped that picture. Stacy was on the far right, next to Harry. Her photographic self was smiling and laughing, but didn't have her arm around the waist of the man next to her, just as he no longer had his around her shoulders. Instead his fingers were entwined with Hermione's.

'_I never understood why you kept this photograph.'_ Stacy thought, not daring to speak aloud since Harry and Hermione would probably hear her in the other room. _'You, both of you, always looked so sad. Like this happiness was just some fake, outer shell that you showed to the world to fool them and hide your pain. I tried, I really did, but you would never open up to me. You never seemed willing to let me know you, like _she_ knows you. I always thought that you were just afraid of getting too close since you'd already lost so many people you loved. I always thought that with time, it would pass. Now I see that it won't and that you won't open up to me because you don't want to, not because you can't.'_

Tossing the framed picture onto the blankets covering the bed, Stacy rose and slipped across the room, grabbing her wand from the night table as she did so. With a few deft flicks, she had conjured two large suitcases and with a few more flicks, all of her clothes and a few special possessions that she had accumulated in the room that she and Harry had shared for the past six months were packed into the suitcases and they were latched tightly. That left only one thing left to do. Walking over to the table that held their writing supplies, Stacy pulled a roll of parchment towards her and began writing by the red glow of the firelight that streamed in through the still partially open door.

'_Harry,_

_I see now that the feelings that I have for you are not returned. Don't feel guilty or blame yourself. I should have known that this was all a fantasy and that someday it would come to an end. I just hope that you don't forget me, even if you will never love me. I may see you around, but don't look. Chances are that I won't be there._

_Love Eternally,_

_Stacy Platchet'_

With tear still slipping silently down her cheeks, Stacy placed the letter on the bed next to the picture before bringing the pointer and middle fingers of her right hand up to her lips and kissing them before pressing them to the glass covering Harry's face. "I'll never forget you, but we can never be happy together," she said in a voice that was barely audible. Then, before the pain became too much and she broke down completely, Stacy took one of the suitcases in each hand and apparated out of the apartment with a soft pop that, if it was even heard in the next room, would just been dismissed as the fire making noises.

**It's really good to hear your voice say my name  
It sounds so sweet  
Coming from the lips of an angel  
Hearing those words it makes me weak**

"We shouldn't be doing this Harry." Hermione said, even though she didn't draw back. She and Harry were sitting next to each other on the couch, probably about as close as physically possible without actually sitting on top of the other. Their foreheads were mere inches apart and Harry's right hand, at some point, had twined fingers with Hermione's left.

"Why not Hermione?" he asked in response, his voice a soft murmur, even as his pulse quickened and his heart raced. "Why can't we? I still don't know why we even broke up to begin with. All I know is that I've regretted it and missed having you every day since it happened."

"It was too hard for both of us; we kept seeing what we had lost in the other. So we decided to take a break and that break turned into something permanent when we went our separate ways for a while." Hermione said; her was voice full of regret. "Harry, I've missed you, more then you can imagine, but…you have Stacy and I have Brad."

"Have you not been listening to anything I've said to you?" Harry asked, his voice wavering slightly as he began to lose control. "I don't know if I can keep going on like this, without you."

"But Harry," Hermione said, trying one last time to fight what even she had felt ever since they two of them had split apart a year after they graduated, "what about Brad and Stacy? And what will happen to us?"

"I don't know what will happen, but I do know what will if we don't. Hermione, I…"

"Don't Harry. Please…"

"I have to tell you because it's the truth and if I don't tell you, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to go insane. Hermione Granger, I can't live without you and I would have gone mad with grief after the last battle without you. You saved my life more times then you can imagine, but now I'm asking you to save me one last time. Please Hermione, I love you."

**And I never wanna say goodbye  
But girl you make it hard to be faithful  
With the lips of an angel**

A tall man with sandy blond hair sat, slouched forward in a chair of the kitchen of a small flat. His blue eyes were focused on the framed photograph that he held in both hands. It usually sat on top of the kitchen mantle, but he had removed it from its usual resting spot to take a better look at it. The photograph was of him and three other people. It had been taken almost a year ago, on the fourth anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort. He was on the far left with his arm wrapped around the waist of a beautiful young woman with wavy brown hair and chocolate eyes. Not for the first time, the man noticed that the eyes of the woman next to him, even though she was smiling brightly, were distant and pain-filled, as if something was haunting her.

With a sigh, Brad moved his eyes away from the woman to the other man in the picture - the one on Hermione's other side. His black hair fell down over his forehead, partially obscuring the thin, lightening-bolt shaped scar. Harry Potter. He still couldn't get over the fact that he was dating the best friend of the most famous wizard since Merlin, or used to be dating at least. Looking closer at Harry, Brad attempted to figure out just why Hermione seemed to prefer him more, but instead noticed the same pained look in Potter's eyes that was present in Hermione's. "What did you two lose that still hurt you so much four years later?" Brad asked softly to air, not expecting any answer. Setting the photograph on the scared surface of the table next to him, the man rose and walked over to the fire, where a clay flowerpot sat on the mantle, next to the empty spot where the photograph had once sat. Reaching into the flowerpot, he pulled out a handful of floo powder, but instead of throwing it into the flames that were already crackling and snapping merrily in the hearth, he let it trickle through his fingers back into the flowerpot as he thought back an hour.

_It was sometime after midnight and Brad, for some reason, woke with a start. Confused and disoriented, he rolled over onto his side, intent on wrapping his arm around Hermione's waist and falling back asleep, but instead, he found that the bed next to him was empty and had been for some time, as it had grown cold. Sitting up, he heard the faint sound of a whispered incantation coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. Slipping silently from his bed, he walked out of the room and down the dark hall towards the end where the red and orange of flickering firelight was visible. As he drew nearer, he heard the sounds of muffled sobs and was about to say something when he heard, over the sobs, the distinct sound of floo powder being thrown into a fireplace. He reached the end of the hallway as the light turned emerald, but chose to stay in the shadows for some reason instead of stepping out into the light._

_Across the room, standing in front of the fireplace, Brad saw a woman of about twenty-two, twenty-three stepping into the fireplace. Her face was tearstained and her eyes red and puffy from crying. Wanting to immediately cross the room and take her in his arms, Brad found that he was unable to move. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew why he was unable, just like he knew why the bottom dropped out of his stomach as he realized where Hermione was heading, even before she spoke the address. "Flat 5b, Charpan Hall, London!" Brad slumped against the wall, not knowing what to feel as he watched Hermione vanish with a whoosh and a flare of emerald fire. He regained control of his limbs as the fire returned to its natural color. Walking over to the mantle, he looked at the picture sitting there, feeling oddly empty as he raised a hand to run a finger over the glass covering the photograph. All four occupants were moving, laughing and smiling, at least on the exterior, himself, Hermione, Harry, and Stacy. Flat 5b, Charpan Hall, London, that was the address of the flat that Harry shared with Stacy._

Brad glanced back at the photograph lying on its back on the table one last time before rising and walking across the room to the writing desk set in the corner. Pulling out a sheaf of parchment and a Never-Out Quill, he thought for a moment before beginning to write. It pained him to put down each additional word on the parchment, but he knew that it had to be done. When he was finished, he rose and walked down the hallway back into the bedroom, where he proceeded to throw some changes of clothes and a few other things in a bag. Walking back into the kitchen, he placed the note on the table next the picture before walking over to the fireplace. Taking a pinch of floo powder, he sprinkled it into the flames before stepping in. "Lansky Manor!" With a flash of emerald and a whooshing sound, the man vanished, leaving the flat empty. On the table, the note unfolded as displaced air form the fireplace blew across the room, revealing what was written.

'_Dearest Hermione,_

_I have taken some things and gone to my parents' home. I'll be back in a few days, but only to get the rest of my things. I love you, but it is clear that your heart lies elsewhere and while it pains me, I want nothing more then to see you happy. I am sorry that it failed to work out between us, but I am not sorry for the times we spent together._

_Love always,_

_Brad Lansky'_

**And I never wanna say goodbye  
But girl you make it hard to be faithful  
With the lips of an angel**

At Harry's words, the last of Hermione's resolve vanished and she broke down crying, wrapping her arms around the waist of the man she had loved for so long and began sobbing into his chest, soaking the shirt he was wearing with her tears. She was vaguely aware of his arms wrapping around her, holding her tight to him. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she felt safe. So long as Harry was with her and so long as he held her, she knew that nothing bad would happen to her. How could it? They and Ron had always sworn to take care of each other and now, since Ron was gone, it was only the two of them left and the other was all that each of them had.

Harry buried his face in Hermione's hair as he held her tightly to his chest, not thinking about how he was going to explain this to anyone, especially Stacy, but instead of the woman he was holding in his arms. Tears slipped down his face as well and dampened her hair as he marveled at the sense of rightness that came from being with her. Hermione had always been the voice of reason in his life, ever since their first year at Hogwarts together and when he had been without her, it had seemed like his life had spiraled out of control. Sure, on the outside he was as cool and calm and collected as ever but inside, he had been in a constant state of pain. Hermione had soothed that pain away and had halted the stead downward spiral of his life and was gently and surely drawing him back upwards, into the light.

The two of them sat holding each other, letting the tears flow freely, as they had done five years ago after that final battle, when they had first admitted their feelings for each other. And as they both cried, their past hurts and the pain was finally washed away so that the healing could begin for both of them still carried hurts and sadness that had stemmed from the shattering of their world five years ago.

**Honey why you calling me so late?**

A few hours later, when both were sitting in silence on the couch, arms still wrapped around each other as they had been while the two were crying, the early morning sun peaked slowly over the horizon. Hermione was the first to move as she shifted position to look up into Harry's emerald eyes, a soft tenderness showing in her chocolate ones that hadn't been there for years. "I love you Harry Potter."

"I love you too Hermione Granger. And I will never let that love go, for any reason." Smiling softly, Harry then bent down and kissed Hermione gently on the lips for the first time in too long. He savored the taste of her lips, once again noticing the salty taste of her tears as his eyes closed and the kiss deepened. When the two finally broke apart, Hermione returned Harry's soft smile of satisfaction before closing her eyes and nestling in closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. And that's how they both finally fell asleep, faint smiles of happiness upon their faces as they both held the other close, safe and warm in the other's arms.


End file.
